


The Four Times Jack took the Guardians into his home (And the one time he let them stay)

by Crosses_and_Qoutes



Series: Dimensions of Frost [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Families of Choice, Family, Family Bonding, Family Secrets, Gen, Jack is more than he appears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crosses_and_Qoutes/pseuds/Crosses_and_Qoutes
Summary: Jack Frost has to go somewhere whenever Winter is over. But the realm that he has created is layered with depths of himself that the others can't fathom yet, though they are going to find out soon.OrHow many layers does it take to get to Jack's center?





	1. The Border: Tooth

She couldn’t help the little sigh that escaped her lips when she realized where exactly the sharp scent of winter was coming from. He had finally found the home of her Fairies.  
Tooth darted down to the dark caves where the honeycomb like structures are nestled, more than a little relieved that her fairies liked him so much.She supposed that it would have happened eventually. After all, Jack is not a spirit that can sit still for a long time, particularly paired with his child like curiosity of their homes. It is one of her favorite things about him.  
But it’s moments like this when that child like image that Tooth knows fumbles in her hands. A child might have stuck their hands through the holes, maybe squish their faces against the pink and purple spirals that are held by seemingly nothing. But Jack asked for one of her fairies instead of her. Respecting her work without wanting to interrupt.  
“But how does it stay up, exactly?” Jack pushed, shifting on the crook of his staff. “I mean, they look like stalactites from here, but...is it a spell? Or engineering design?”  
The fairy, a little one that had taken to calling herself Rani, is more than happy to speak with Jack Frost, small chirps and squeaks that Jack never has any problem understanding. Tooth didn’t know how, exactly, but Jack never had any trouble with understanding her fae at all. Rani perks though, sensing her presence and rushing to her side. Her Tooth is ok? What does she need?  
“Hello Sweet-tooth” She greets Jack and touches his shoulder before holding out a hand for Rani to land on. “What are you doing down here? You know that they won’t sleep if you are here.”  
“I know, but I was going to be quick, promise! I was just curious. How do you keep it up? Why here, closer to the ground?”  
“They work in shifts into order to not get too tired and the caves tend to be a bit darker, so it’s easier. Why so interested?”  
Tooth never slept of course. Not really, more like naps in between broken bicuspids and cavities. But when her fairies slept, she felt rejuvenated as well, so the payoff wasn’t so bad.  
“Well, the design is really well made, and I figured that they had been around a while so they’d be stable. Was seeing if I could make something similar in a tree or something.”  
“Like birdhouses?” She would not be held accountable for the wack on the head that he received from the fairies. Her fae, though small, were a proud race and wouldn’t tolerate it, not even from Jack.  
“Kind of? Like I would need to make them a big bigger for birds, but it would mainly be for the Nods. They like to remain close to their steeds, and some of the older spirits are getting too big for the nests now.” He dug his toes in briefly before launching himself to the base of the tower, looking at it again. “Like, how you I get a base on a tree though?”  
Tooth blinked, absently stroking the feathers on Rani’s head. She was old, a part of some of the first civilizations of Earth, but in all of her memories, there was no hint of such a creature.  
“What is a Nod?”  
Jack paused from prodding the base, turning towards her. For all of Jack’s playfulness, he was intensely private.He didn’t give them any piece of himself without careful consideration first. Nearly a year into his guardianship and they had yet to know any true depth to the boy at all. He’s invasive nature was not what they thought though. Several assumptions had been made in the beginning that were swiftly corrected. They had allowed their jobs to consume them for centuries on end, losing touch with the world, especially the spirit world.  
“Nods are an army of warrior fairy folk that have developed over the past few centuries.” Jack begin. “They ride on birds and are my eyes and ears of the world, reporting back to me if anything suspicious is happening. You heard the Midnight Trumpets once, during a meeting.”  
Tooth nodded. Of course she remembered. Nobody else had, but the low moaning howl like a rumble of a storm that had cut her heart in half, frozen as Jack quickly excused himself and rushed out the window.  
“Jack I would be more than willing to help, but it might help me if I could see the location?” Jack fidgeted, breaking eye contact. “Just to get an idea of stability and security of the area. If this doesn’t work, there are other ways?”  
Sugar sticks, too far. She backed away a bit, but Rani left her hand, patting the boy softly. Jack’s precious Nods had protected them and helped them. Tooth would understand. Tooth wouldn’t be sad with him.  
Understand what?  
“Ok, ok. Give me a minute. Let me lift the wards and then I’ll come get you, ok? If I don’t go first Chi’s magic is sure to try and throw you right back out.”  
He leaned back, dropping to the stone floor where a shallow puddle of water was, quickly freezing it until his infamous ice ferns instantly started spreading in no particular direction. And then he tapped the frozen puddle with his hook and pulled. Her feathers jumped as the magic shifted, something opened, but Jack had stepped past the ferns before she could even ask.  
Jack hated water. They hadn’t quite figured out why yet, but they knew that under no circumstances would he get in a body of water that was more than knee deep. Everything else was quickly frozen. Trying to bathe him at the North Pole had been an eye opener, the tense snapping way he had jerked out of the tub, disappearing for nearly a month after. North had learned not to push him after that, and they had compromised. But he had just...stepped through.  
Tooth floated down to wait, Rani quickly following.  
“You have meet them before, these Nods? Why not tell me?” Queen she may be, they were her own children. Surely she could be trusted?  
Rani blushed, looking away and quickly chirped. The Nods were a bit like the bad boys of the fae world. Not seelie, not unseelie, and warriors out of choice but not birth. They helped Jack because they choose to do so, and they wore winter with all the fierceness and strength of a wolf, but they were as lovely as the birds they flew. Even though they were, unfortunately, wingless, that didn’t stop them from dancing so gracefully and to be reached for by that cold touch, to be held in his arms…  
Another quickly rushed down, lightly hitting her sister. Shut up! She does not need to know all that!  
Tooth smirked. They were her fairies little secret. A young lover to visit at night, the ultimate guilty pleasure.  
“I don’t suppose any more want to come with?”  
A few more buzzing wings, feathers quickly arranged down, though several still peeked out hesitantly. They would need to discuss this next meeting, Tooth noted. Her fairies should never feel like they had to hide anything from her, especially the fact that they were in love with another.  
“OK,” Jack’s hand popped up from the ice ferns, “Ready?”  
Her fairies plunged down without fear. Tooth touched down on the surface and while it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t ice. More like actual ferns, scratching at the thin feathers on her feet. Not one drop of water touched her feathers when she emerged on the other side.

The only way to describe its as a winter wonderland. A line of tall evergreen trees stretched for miles across the landscape, the green, white and dark browns intermingling with other shades of blue, silver and gray in the distance, though she couldn’t see what kind of trees those were. Little balls and triangles were hanging from the branches, built onto the trunks, some even stretching from trunk to trunk, oversized nests outlined in the pale white light like a miles long Christmas tree. The pale green grass glittered with fresh frost and ice crunched as she hovered over it, small white flower bells making tentative roots at the edge of the forest.  
She can feel the magic hovering around her, the pale white force unsure of her summer roots as it feels for her. Summer fae is friend? Wind fae? What kind of fae?  
“Toothiana, Guardian of Memories and Warrior Queen of the Fae, will always be welcome in this realm. No harm shall come to her or her fairies. Let it be known by all the land and it’s people.”  
“This is your official command?”  
The being has her itching for sabers that she hasn’t carried in six hundred years. It is a wolf only in form, nearly five foot at the shoulder and markings shifting itself to match the trees around them for better camouflage, slowly blending into the forest inside. It’s eyes stand out far too much though, golden beacons like fire in this place of winter.  
“Yes, this is official.”  
It lifts it’s head and howls, echoing in the place and shaking the tops of the trees, a bit of frost falling, but the message is sent. The magic hovers one more time before grazing off. They will remember her by this ombré of greens and blue, flashes of pink and purple in between that are different, but nice. Nice like flying in open air and running down a hill and the first time experiencing rain.  
“Show off.” Jack mutters with a quirky smile.  
“My apologies.” The wolf bows, “Had I known we were expecting royalty, I would have made myself more presentable. King Frost does not usually bring guests.” It lays down and bares it’s teeth, one her faires gliding over. They are in much better condition! Aglakti actually listened!  
Jack scoffs, running a hand through his hair.  
“We have talked about-you know what, never mind, are the Nods back yet?”  
“Filling out reports now. With everything that happened this year, I think they are hoping that we don’t have the usual brawl with the spring upstarts for once. They’ll be happy to see you, of course. Any particular reason?” He gestures to her, carefully closing his mouth.  
“I’m hoping to help with some construction of homes for them.” She answers, flittering around restlessly. She recognizes this creature. Several names flit through her head. Amarok. Waheela. Amaguq. Dire Wolf. She had thought they were existent, and yet, here he was. Why here though?  
“She’s got some clever designs, so I thought something similar maybe.”  
Aglakti nods, “We will be needing the space soon enough. I need to finish my rounds for the night, but you are free to call should you need me.” The fairy returns to her, but she doesn’t miss that Hema laughs as he pretends to nip at her tailfeathers. They are comfortable here. Extremely comfortable.  
“Jack, where is here, exactly? You said the Nods were your eyes and ears, but what do they tell you?”  
“Well, you know how you have your Palace, Bunny has the Warren, North’s workshop, so on? This is mine. I just call it home, but it’s got lots of names or whatever. The Nods keep an eye out for other children, making sure that nobody gets lost in the storms, or led them home if they do. As they grow more powerful, they can take more responsibilities. Making sure that the cold snaps don’t freeze too many crops, getting animals into hibernation in time when they're being lazy. I added Pitch and he’s nightmare sand to the list last year, and some of your fairies, in the case of the colder climates. I know they’ve been fine on their own,” He quickly adds, “But it's just in case. But Winter doesn’t run near as smooth without them.”  
The tree lines have several nests that are occupied, small sleeping autumn spirits with pale red faces and golden strands of hair spilling out, but there are several more nests waiting. But what catches her eye is the hollowed Oak that is nearly as wide as three men and as tall as a tower, a crude hexagon pattern carved in to create holes. Small birds flit in and out, bright red and blue and black and she nearly misses it the first time. A tiny rider nestled between its feathers, a single chirp of warning is given before Sparrows and Starlings are rushing over, landing on Jack’s staff, shoulders and hair. They are ecstatic to see him and have no issues with giving affectionate nuzzles and necks, encouraged by Jack’s laughter. A few bolder ones shift on branches, cautiously looking towards her, one even circling with dark wings. Tooth nods, and a fluffy titmice lands, a few snow buntings and rosy finches on her shoulder, but it is the crow that takes her attention, landing deftly at her bent knee.  
They are all so different. Not one of the Nods look a like, their skin ranging form white as snow to spearmint to glacier blue, they’re clothes crafted from fur, bark, leaves and feathers. The small strands of hair are carefully fixed into smaller braids, Mohawks and ponytails, most to match with their chosen bird. The only thing they all carry is a small black trumpet, fashioned from what seems to be a bird’s talon, glittering with policed ice inside. The crow on her knee holds a boy just a few shades off from midnight blue, he’s silver hair contrasting sharply with the black furred collar that surrounds his neck, attached to an even larger cloak. She assumed that the more intricate the cloak, the longer one had been a Nod. He’s covers himself and a good portion of he’s crow, the pattern like snowflakes rippling to he’s shoulders. He’s speaking, Tooth realizes, but she can’t seem to understand. It’s like trying to listen to a voice that is just not quite here anymore. He jerks towards Jack, gesturing at her with a sweep of an arm.  
“Alright, alright, Thickett. Grow up.”  
It’s a spell that snaps into place, the boy quickly jumps off the crow and lands on the ground, rapidly expanding until he is as full grown as he will ever be, he’s thin mouth blue as death and covered in hoar frost, the black of his fingertips revealing his death as much as Jack’s does when the glamour fades.  
“Your fae claim that they are not apart of any court. But are you?”  
“Thickett!” Jack snaps, a few birds fluttering in agitation. The boy only flicks he’s long pointed ear at him. He doesn’t care how pretty the bird woman and her shining fae are. He has soldiers of his own to protect.  
“My fairies spoke right. I do not answer to the Seelie or Unseelie courts. They answer to me.”  
That’s news to Jack, who glances at her with wide eyes.  
“So you're like us. You belong to no court except your own?”  
“Yes. But I’m here as a friend today. Jack said that you might be interested in some new homes!”  
They were in desperate need. The ones that had now were built into the branches, nest and whorls in the trees that didn’t offer much space or privacy between a bird and a Nod. A few personal items, brushes, tools for crafting, some even held suits of armor, were carefully nestled inside the twigs, or hanging off precariously. The Nods lean in from branches and birds in rapt attention as she begins to explain the homes that she has built in the caves, some even offering ideas or places for how to create the stalactite design on the trees, or maybe caving a couple of ice caves. Thickett is hurriedly stitching together leaves in order to get some of the ideas down, maybe a plan once everyone actually calms down. Tooth’s fairies drift to the branches once she gets going, knowing that it is going to be a while now that they’re queen has really started talking.  
Jack leans back in the tree, picturing the structures in his mind's eye as Tooth starts crafting them out loud and seeing if they would work but can’t help but secretly smile to himself, and not just because of the secret cuddle session happening in the trees above. He wonders if Tooth realizes that she has not had to give a single direction for teeth in over five minutes. Baby Tooth, nearly six times her height, directs her sisters just fine from Tooth Palace, sharp and fast commands with gentle approval and praise, just as her mother had shown her.

\--

  
Tooth doesn’t think of it until later, when there is a lull in the collecting. Thickett’s blue lips, the rings around his eyes as he stared her down, far older than had any right to be in the body of a thirteen year old by. She is a Guardian of Memory, blessed and cursed with an extensive memory herself.  
She flies down to the Hall of Half-Formed, for tooth boxes that would never be completed. The Guardians try their best, but the simple truth of the matter was that, no matter how powerful or expansive she makes her operation, she can never save every child. It simply isn’t possible anymore. Her hand hovers until the box comes out, a tan face with dark hair and a gentle smile. It is Thickett.  
Winter wasn’t always a fun season, though many happy memories came for the winter months. Cuddling with family, stories by the fire, large meals cooked together, it can be wonderful. But accidents happen in winter. Sometimes not by accident. Death was prevalent in winter in a way that it simply wasn’t in any other season. Nods were warrior fae by choice, but unlike any other fae, they were human first. Children who had gone into the winter and died for one reason or another. Old Man Winter, the Avatar, was supposed to find them and take them into the Winter Court in order to give them time to come to terms with what had happened to them and move on. Except Old Man Winter never came. Why, she wasn’t sure, but Jack had taken the reins where the Old Man had left them. He had taken them in, given them a place to stay, a purpose to exist, a steed to love and care for, a reason to keep going.  
But they would never move on. By giving them a purpose, Jack had given them another life. Their old names, their old names, had died when they had taken their new ones.  
But Jack couldn’t have known that. It was never his job to take in the first place. Thickett, formally Helia of Portara, Greece, was over five hundred years old and must have been wondering for some time before Jack had found him.  
Where was Old Man Winter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you start imagining a fun little world for Jack to live in and then do far too much research for it. Far more coming up in the near future, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Amarok: Giant wolves of Inuit mythology that is said to stalk and devour any person foolish enough to hunt alone at night. They are typically lone hunters, but due to hunting and lower habitats, they remaining three stay in Jack's home, guarding the borders to ensure that no unwanted visitors come in. They restrain themselves around only because they respect Jack more.  
> Chione: Also known as Chi, is the daughter of Beira and one of the two 'Ladies of the Court'. She watches over the Autumn spirits on the border as they sleep, as well as crafting gifts and weapons for the inhabitants. She is a giantess with blue skin and stark white hair who proudly carries her mother's hammer with her. Beira can only awaken on the longest night of the year, and only to spend time with her daughter now.  
> Nods: They are legitment beings in the Guardians of Childhood books and although I have taken some artistic liberaties with them, they are fascinating, as is the Oak of Sorrows. Check it out, seriously.


	2. The Forest: Sandy

Sandy remembers building this small mirror like dimension centuries ago. He hadn’t been allowed to interfere directly at that time, but leading a struggling winter spirit with nowhere to go and unable to cross the border into a realm that he could go whatever he pleased? That wasn’t against any rules, as far as he knew. At the time, it had been empty, save for miles and miles of snow and frost. But Jack had taken his solace and made it a home. It had started with taking in ghosts, then spirits, creating beds and nests for them to rest, and expanding to the younger autumn and Halloween spirits. Learning to plant food and beauty, creating safety and security and, perhaps more importantly, fun, in a season known for death and stillness. Over he’s lifetimes, Sandy had never seen a embodiment of winter so wonderfully selfless.  
Sandy had lifted an eyebrow when he had heard the rumor of what the Winter and Autumn spirits called it. He certainly wouldn’t have connected it to Jack, and yet, it fit, for all he had given.  
The Court of Sleep.  
Sandy lifted he’s sand to form a small wall of golden leaves, feeling teh mingling of magic before it recognized him, allowing him to step through. Jack had asked for his help to ensure that he’s guests had good dreams this year. Pitch’s attack had happened at the end of winter and the spirit world, unconcerned with outside forces, had blamed the winter spirits for not protecting themselves or their domain enough. The spring spirits were more than happy to soak up the sympathy. Disappointing, how enclosed others could be in their own worlds. He blinked in the bright white light, stunned for a moment and the sheer amount. He had only heard, but he had not been in this place since he had created it. Winter Wonderland didn’t even begin to cover it.  
“Sandy!”  
Jack had snuck up on him, tumbling into him and rolling off the dream sand, knowing that Sandy would craft something to catch him.  
“Just a net? Stingy, last time it was a horse.”  
Sandy quickly brought him to the dream cloud, gesturing to the world with wide arms. Look at what you have created! Look at what you have done! He didn’t know the symbols to tell Jack how proud he was, the words were not enough.  
“Aw, Sandy, c’mon.” He pushed his shoulder. “I’ve got a few days until the Migration and I want to make sure everything is perfect. Pitch’s nightmares kept messing with and to say that the Spring Spirits were upset with their domain being messed with is an understatement. They managed one attack before I caught them, and even then, well, let’s just say that I want to make sure that everyone has good dreams.”  
Sandy knew all too well. Jack had made great strides in changing the Winter Spirit stereotypes, but there was only so much that a few decades could change after several horrible rulers.  
“I know it’s a lot to ask-”  
Sandy stopped him, shaking his head. Jack could ask for the world on a platter, and Sandy would find some way to make that wish come true.  
“Thanks, Sandman.” Jack grinned, kicking into the air, “But for now, let’s focus on this world. There isn’t a center, exactly, but I figure the six corner trees could all hold a bit and then it can disperse out as needed. I remember you told me the sand is semi-sentient based on the dreams around so…”  
The golden haired star floated up, pointing at a tower with six trees going into the sky. That was clearly the center?  
“No, no, that’s um, the only one that sleeps there is me. Everybody else stays in the forest, more comfortable for them.”  
The forest was beautiful and haunting. Colorado blue spruces rose in the sky, white pine and dappled Japanese willow creating a variety of colors, red twig dogwood stretching from the earth like fire. Holly bushes hid the holes where the Barbegazi were already nestled in for sleeping, watching with wide eyes as Jack and Sandy floated through.  
But some of the trees clearly weren’t natural. Not wood anyway. Tall pillars of ice and snow, stretching to create a branches, some beautifully curved and others twisted like claws. They were far more varied in their colors of blue, white and green, every shade possible it seemed. They dotted the landscape equally, and seemed to carry most of the hanging nests and beds. Jack smiled as they drifted close to a hanging triangle, the inside carefully packed with blankets and pillows, a small bedding of fresh hay. A perfect place for any hibernating spirit who only needed a small bit of peace and quiet. From above here, he could see them dotting the landscape, a little over three hundred perhaps, not counting those who stayed on the ground. From up here, it looked like a giant Christmas wreath.  
“Ok so the six pillars have already been hollowed out, and I think the holes are big enough for the sand to settle comfortably-what do mean you want a tour?”  
You were the one that allowed others to call this place the Court of Sleep. It would stand to reason that, as the Guardian of Dreams, he would want a tour of the Court of Sleep.  
“Who in hades told you-ok, fine. We can visit each of the trees and you can visit some folks, but you are aware that it’s going to take a while? Like, some kids won’t be getting dream sand tonight?”  
Children didn’t essentially need him to go to sleep, and if they had his dreams every night, then they wouldn’t be special anymore, now would they?  
The first tree is as deep as shadows, blue swirling up the truck like a hidden starry night between dark clouds and he delicately pours just a bit down. It is the first tree created, still crude with it’s twisting branches and angry, but it is the first truth. He has never seen such a tree before, not in all of his memories. The sand twinkles beneath the bark.  
The second tree is silver gray with glacier blue ferns dancing up the length and the Ijiraq at the base of it is a curious bold thing. They fly up as a snowy owl, but quickly shift into a mimicry of himself, he’s hair far to pointy and he’s eyes not quite bright enough. He laughs anyway, body shaking as the Ijiraq flings himself from the golden strands like rope, giggling insanely. Jack explains that the Ijiraq make a deal when they come here. They must agree to never hunt a child or a family, to lead those home that are lost and to live off of animals and creatures they hunt. In return, they are free to stay here as long as they need, and create whatever they please. Should they ever break this oath though, their hearts are immediately frozen over. No trail.  
Sandy never imagined that from Jack. No trail? It was certainly harsher than he expected from him. Then again, Jack was a different spirit when it came to children.  
The third was spearmint green with white cracking up like lightning. It is fearsome, shooting up and up on gnarled and brittle branches with no leaves grow and nobody stays. Jack rushes him away from it, but he pours more sand into this one than the others. The fourth is ever green and silvery gray spirals lazily crawl up, the Barbegazi at the base far more friendly than the other ones, waving to him slightly as they gather their things into their hollow. The mountain, over the past few decades, has turned to a tourist resort. The winter months are far too busy for them to hide anywhere. They come here for a short time until the humans have thinned out, staying in the roots of the trees. No hanging in the branches for them, thank you very much.  
The fifth is pure white with hoarfrost cracklings the edges, gentler than the others but it holds a warning to not approach. The base holds a sleeping beast twice the height of Bunny and as wide as a truck, though Jack does not seem afraid of it.  
It is the last tree that Jack hesitates, twirling his staff in circles, but eventually Sandy sees it. It is the newest one, the ice still fresh and undeniably the color of North’s blue eyes. The silver blue of bunny’s fur glimmers in the leaves and blue flowers with long golden antenna and shimmering pink leaves are woven in effortlessly.  
“Gold is the color of warmth and light and sun,” Jack mutters, shrugging helplessly with a half hearted grin, “I can’t recreate it here.”  
Sandy can feel the dream here, pulsing in the roots. The one that Jack had tried so desperately to remake in reality. He had tried, honest to the stars tried, to bring stars and light when all he could know was cold and darkness.  
Sandy rose from the cloud, rubbing his hands tougher and pushed, rocketing into teh sky and taking Jack with him.  
It snapped into place with a crack, the magic shifting as it started connected to the others. It danced around each other a moment as the blue brilliance of Joy circled the air, inviting the golden shimmering visitor to play and laugh with them. After all, what goes better than joy and dreams? His sand is wary, remembering the bite of fear just as much as he does, but Jack’s frost is so gentle, so delicate. The lines of gold and blue finally intertwine, explosions underneath his form as he feels it convert back into it’s original form. Stardust.  
“Well,” Jack pauses, a little breathless. “ it was only supposed to activate for emergencies, but I guess this works too.”  
Emergencies?  
“When natural nightmares pop up, I was hoping it would slowly seep out so you wouldn’t have to refill it too often. I mean, sleep is nice, but rest is what they need. I’ll have to find a way to ensure that your not coming down here all the time just to refill them.”  
Sandy shakes his head. It would be an honor to return to such a world. Speaking of, he pats the cloud, making sure that Jack is paying attention. He has never seen trees like these before. Did Jack make them?  
“Yea” Jack whispers, pulling himself closer to Sandy’s side. This close, Sandy can’t see his face, though he knows that it’s on purpose. “I used to go to Antarctica when the feeling of being alone or scared or angry got too much. It was the safest way for me to let it out without, you know, kicking up a blizzard or freezing myself or something. I always chopped them down after, letting the ice float on the ocean to cool it down, but I figured. I figured that they would work here as well. I guess I wanted the stuff that I was going through to have some sort of meaning.”  
Jack had practice, reading his dreamsand, but he cannot find the images to make Jack understand how exquisite and wonderful each and every tree is. How much they show about Jack and how strong he is and how much he can do. There is beauty in the breakdown. One day, when Jack is ready, Bunny and him might be able to talk about it. Bunny created some of his most passionate works, working through the loss of the Pooka race.  
“Yea,” he barks nervously, “When I’m ready one day. Maybe.”  
Sandy shakes his head, pulling him down to rest his head on his lap. Silly winter spirit, thinking that he is going to be in trouble for doing absolutely nothing wrong. He gently untangles the windswept hair and listens to the content sigh as Jack finally relaxes. Gold contrasts beautifully against the white and blue of this handcrafted world. Spirits are settling in around them, heeding the call of the Sandman and going to sleep, watching as the light pours through and imagining sun against their skin, dreaming of childhood games and fantasies long forgotten.  
Except one, it would seem. A fluttering of wings interrupts the vision, a snowy owl nearly five feet tall settling on a branch below.  
“You are the Sandman, yes?”  
Yes, it is one of his names. Who asks?  
“I am but a humble owl spirit, Suluk.” He bows. “He spoke of you before. A man that carried the sun in his eyes and stardust beneath his nail beds. I simply wished to meet such a being that could incite such beautiful descriptions from our King. You gifted the golden vines?”  
Directly below them, on the final and sixth tree, golden visnes twisted up the trunk and intertwined themselves in the branches, pulsing gently with light.  
“King Frost will be happy. He tried valiantly to create gold, but he could not hold it. It would not stay, anyway. Why would sunshine choose to stay in a place where winter and night sleep?” Suluk muttered, feathers ruffled before he settled, head tilting just a touch to far as he bowed again.  
“Will you make sure that the vines stay? I would hate for our little Lord to be sad again.”  
Suluk had his word. Until the end of days, the veins would glow bright with starlight. It nodded it’s thanks, going to settle in it’s own hollow for the night. Sandy smile widened, watching languidly as Jack stretched out on the cloud like he was falling asleep in some sunny field, a blissful smile as he hugged Sandy closer.  
Eyes that hold the sun, huh? He would need to come here more often, much more often. And now he had the perfect excuse.

\---   
It doesn’t occur to him until much later, nearly at the end of the week. Little Lord. King Frost. It was one thing to nickname Jack’s home as the Court of Sleep, but to call him those titles was no joke in the spirit world. The only way for Jack to earn those titles is to have the court officially named and recognized by the spirit council themselves. The winter and autumn spirits kept the place as a well kept secret, a safe place from the spring and summer spirits from tormenting their hiding spots. But as far as he knew, it had never been named an official court.  
Had it?  
He allowed the dream sand to go on autopilot of a moment, trying to remember. He would need to find Seraphina and ask. If Jack was truly a King, the recognized embodiment of Winter, than it changed his power base. If they needed to make corrections in his training, they needed to do so now. He completed his rounds and crafted an airplane back to the Island. He would need he’s globe to find exactly where she was and hope that she didn't mind an old friend stopping by.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you start imagining a fun little world for Jack to live in and then do far too much research for it. Far more coming up in the near future, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Barbezagi: This variety of dwarf and gnome derive from the Swiss and French mythology, resembling a small white furred man with a long beard and enormous feet. They use them to ski down mountains and as snowshoes as well. They typically hibernate during the summer, but during the Winter they will sometimes help shepherds round up lost sheep and give low whistling cries to warn humans of the dangers above and, sometimes, will even dig humans out of the snow.   
> Ijiraq: Also from Inuit mythology, they are shapeshifters that can go on either end of the moral specturm. They typically kidnap children and hide or abandon them, sometimes even eating them. However, they can be convinced to allow these children to find thier way back if they can convince the Ijiraq or give a good enough reason. They can see seen from the corner of the eye for a moment, but trying to observe one directly cannot be done unless willed by the creature itself. They are said to inhabit in a land between worlds and the home of the Ijiraq is cured and, should one hunt for it, will be cursed to lose their way, no matter how skilled or familar with the land.


	3. The Garden: Bunny

After the last Easter, he wanted to be sure to throw in some extra personal eggs, to boost belief again. Bunny figured looking into children’s happiest memories should do the trick. Tooth had twittered about it briefly, mostly about he’s Nods and concerns that she had about Old Man Winter’s supposed absentness, but he could admit to himself that he was only half listening. Bunny was more relieved that Jack had an actual place to go instead of the trees and snow banks that he had pictured. He also figured that he was going to be the last one to see it. Bunny and Jack didn’t exactly have the best relationship.  
He glanced over at the white haired teen as they approached the end of the monthly meeting. Snowballs and fun times he’s furry arse, the winter spirit was taking in the ghosts of children and never flinched. Maybe that was why he never seemed to notice his own appearance. After all, he’s Nods looked the same.  
“Alright, all I have!” North announced, rising from his seat. “Free to stay of course, however I must get back to workshop. Elves! Make sure plenty of food, yes?”  
The deceptive little blighters nodded, but he couldn’t stay either. Some plants in the garden were needing some extra care this year, and he had added a few hundred eggs to his usual count, meaning the breeding grounds had to be expanded. Bunny also needed to get those designs onto paper before be completely blanked on them.  
“Hey, Bunny?” Jack walked over to him, the hole already gaping in the floor. “We talk for a minute? I want to make a trade.”  
Trade? Well, this was an interesting development.  
“Alright, but talk in the Warren. I got a few things to check on.”  
His foot had barely left the ground before Jack had dived in without a trace of fear, giggling as they stumbled out of the tunnel. That was one thing that he loved about Jack. Unending joy at the little things. Neither of them say much as Bunny marches towards the garden, quickly tapping his foot for a feel underneath. Everything is on schedule then.  
He’s whole Warren is a garden, if he is completely honest, but this one is personal to him. The fruits, vegetables and spices created here were used to make the center flavorings of his chocolate eggs, feed himself and the flower especially, which were pressed into eggs or painted on them. He took extra care here to make them as perfect as possible. Jack was quiet, looking with wide eyes as he checked the flowers first. Good, the bees had been coming in and pollinating out.  
“Alright Frostbite. What’s this about a trade?”  
“I...I need a few things from your garden.”  
Bunny turned towards him, ears raised. Jack didn’t ask for things. He avoided asking for help at all.  
“I’m willing to trade!” He hopped onto the staff, making them a bit more on level. “I mean, my garden isn’t near as big or impressive or stuff, but it’s not bare.”  
Jack had a garden? Jack knew how to grow things?  
“-I mean, I figure that maybe I have some things that you might not be able to grow because of the whole eternal spring schtick but-”  
He’s rambling now, shoulders pulling up to his ears. Bunny wipes his face into what he hopes is a more neutral expression, but he doesn’t manage to quite get it.  
“Breathe, Snowflake. I’d be happy to make a trade with you. I can think of a few things I haven't been able to make, but I’m more interested in what you need.”  
Jack carefully pulls out golden red leaves carefully folded and sewn together to create a makeshift list with black ink, the edges worn thin from where he was thumbing them during the meeting.  
Right off the bat, he knows that this isn’t Jack’s handwriting. Jack’s was large and curled, reminiscent of wind patterns and ice ferns, lots of twists and swirls, much like Sandy’s. But the handwriting here is small, organized and the items here, well, he wouldn’t have pegged them for Jack. Mainly the ingedients.  
“Jack, this is clearly for medicine. You don’t have to trade for those. I will gladly give you supplies for poultices, hell, I’ll make some for you-”  
“Bunny.”  
“Frost bite, you can get anything out of this garden long as you ask first. I can see you trying to stock up here, majorly. Are you getting into tiffs again?”  
“Bunny!” Jack snaps, body drawn tight as he narrows his eyes. “It’s not just for me, ok? I have other spirits that live me. It’s for all of us. Look I know it’s a lot in terms of supplies, but can you take the trade or not? Otherwise, I need to find somebody else to barter with or scavenge somewhere else.”  
Jack could have given him lint from his belly button and he would have taken the trade.  
“I...just wondering how you’re going to get it all home.”  
Himself and North had that habit of talking over Jack, especially when the boys health was in concern. Something they were trying to work on, but Jack was a child in his mind, first and foremost. Children needed to be cared for.  
“With your permission, a few friends would come in and retrieve it with baskets and then you would go to my place and take what you wanted. That way it’s fair.”  
It was the only way that he can make this acceptable in his mind is by making it at trade. He can’t just ask because they’re friends, it had to be like this.  
“Alright, fair trade. Let me get some of the more time consuming items together and then the rest can be found here. Should have it together in about a week's time. Deal?”  
They shake hands and he doesn’t miss the quiver in Jack’s hand when he pulls away or the quick way that he practically sprints out of the Warren. Bunny wonders if they are as close as he thought if Jack can’t simply ask him for help. Or it could be that this is Jack being vulnerable with him. After all, it involves him going to he’s home. And it’s not like the others have exactly gone on social visits. Even Sandy had to have a gift that only he could specifically provide, and Sandy had been friends with Jack far longer than any of them.  
It’s enough for a small village, but with the abundance in he’s Warren already, it really isn’t much. They, whoever else is leaving with Jack besides the Nods, are clearly looking for things that can be dried, crushed into spices, jammed, or stored back for long periods of time; Bananas, strawberries, ginger, papaya, peaches, melons, eggplant. But it's the bottom of the list that had initially worried him. Dandelion, cadendula, honey, olive oil, lemons, beeswax, all ingredients used in basic medical remedies. He can’t imagine the last time they might have managed to restock on any of it. He gathers it up, making sure that the rest of them are out in the open and ripe for picking, the rest, mainly honey, olive oil and beeswax, waiting in woven baskets. He’s antsy in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was kit, but he finally feels Jack’s bright blue core enter the Warren, a few other cold spirits entering with him. Bunny knows Jack’s silhouette, but he looks small compared to the forms beside him.  
They are a bit smaller than himself, dog looking and near hairless except for a few tufts of hair on their ears, feet, mouth and at the end of a long waving tail, all carefully groomed. The clothing is basic enough, though he can smell that it had been groomed off of animals losing their summer coats, thick tufts of varied fur and skin. It was more like toga like, with slits in the sides for rather long legs that crouched like they hadn’t quite evolved into walking onto two legs yet. A few with cloaks tucked into a woven belt, Jack’s signature snowflake clear on the bottom, also had their hoods up, long pierced ears sticking up through the holes. The small hints of designs and colors hinted at a culture just barely taking it’s first baby steps. They were far older than Jack, yet he was clearly the leader as they walked beside and behind him up the hill. Where did he remember these creatures?  
“Bunnymund, this is the Qiqirn. They are the main groundskeepers of the garden, so they know more about this than I do.”  
Bunny spies one he didn’t see before, only a bit taller than Jack and clearly the youngest. Her large red eyes stare at him, her ears folded back in curiosity as he waves them closer.  
“Honey!” She darts past him, her smile growing even wider. “Do you keep the bees down here with you? Do you know what flower they used? I remember reading once that different flower created different kinds of sweetness-”  
“Cikuq! Some level of decorum please? Avatar of Spring” He doesn’t pull his hood down, but Bunny can see the matching white gold piercings in both of their ears, both in the exact same place. Related then. “Besides, I need you to go to the flowers. Your speciality, remember?”  
“Ah, the sheilas alright.” Bunny insists. “Never cared for all that pomp and circumstance anyhow.”  
He can feel her hope still, though it’s been tempered as she goes toward the flower section, carefully looking through to find which ones would survive the cold the longest. He doesn’t miss the fact that none of them will look him in the eye, save for her.  
“The Guardians never made it clear how they felt among lower spirits, being top of the food chain and all.” Jack explains, leaning on his staff. “They don’t know you as Easter Bunny. Just Avatar of Spring and most of them don’t exactly have good experiences. Spring spirits are very insistent on us leaving as soon as possible, if you catch my drift.”  
He’s familiar. He’s caught them a few times and can make them quit, but Bunny gave up his place in court a long time ago. Bunny doesn’t have any actual say over how the Spring spirits act unless he becomes Spring itself, which takes a lot energy as it does not rely on belief but he’s own power. He nods and keeps himself small, watching as they gather everything into baskets weaved from blue spruce, white pine and evergreen branches. They’re foreign here, but they are beautifully made.  
“I like your garden.” Cikuq whispers, holding up her basket of flower with the roots carefully tucked into the bottom. Her brother, as Jack informed him, only shakes his head, but he can see the fondness. “I hope that you’ll like ours too! They’re aren’t as many flower, but I think it’s still pretty.”  
“I’d love to see it.” He mutters, taking the basket he had been hiding and holding out his arm. He had a surplus of pomegranates this year, and even though it wasn’t on the list, it is a nice treat to have around. You would have though he offered the sun as she takes the raised appendage, but Jack only smirks, running ahead and freezing a section of the tunnel wall glassy with ferns, walking through.  
“Come on!” Cikuq laughs as he hesitates, pulling him through.

Unexpected didn’t cover it. Now, Bunny knows that he is pretty biased when it comes to flowers and life, there was some pride in regards to his position. But Jack’s garden is a thing of beauty that he couldn’t recreate in the Warren.  
The mirror was from a small pond directly in it, a little shallow thing in the centre of a fountain brimming with oranges, apples and lettuce instead of water, several birds pecking and daring on and off, unfettered in the slightest at their sudden appearance. The shrubs that bordered the edge are decorated with white ice fencing, but the gates are fixed open, more for decoration than purpose. It seems to stretch quite a ways in a sort of loop, and he can see a forest a few hundred yards away, walls of pines and evergreens and he did not believe that there would be so much. He can feel it, all the lives quietly beating, resting in the trees and the roots and there are so many damn spirits.  
“It’s divided into section,” Ciquk tells him. “My brother, Anut, takes care of the fruits but I take care of the flowers. Those will probably be last though. You didn’t really send a list so we didn't know what you might be looking for?”  
She turns toward Anut who only shrugs.  
“Garden is basically up for grabs for you. You had a really good selection at your place, but maybe they’re is something here you don’t have? Whole place smelled like a garden to me.”  
Speaking of smells, he bounds for it before he can even name it, a sweet smelling thing.  
“Plums.” Hadn’t had these in years. Cikuq, he’s unofficial guide it seems, hands him a large basket of solid evergreen and they start picking. Several apples, Winesap and Cold Beauty, he knows he can’t grow due to temperature. Persimmons waiting, just near perfect. A few other Qiqirn children, curious to the stranger in the garden, are more than willing to help him pick the best ones.  
The vegetables are more organized, rows upon rows of them. The sharp tang of fennel is good, winter squash was a surprise and pumpkin! Pumpkin was one he definitely hadn’t had. Bunny saw several jack o lanterns carved in, playful autumn spirits on the edge of the fence, but they do not step forward. He doesn’t press them to.  
“Ok, ok, this one is my part. Close your eyes!”  
Cikuq’s pride is the flower garden, and it is the one that gives him the biggest wake up call. He had always assumed that winter was bare, and if there were any flower, they were white. But he had forgotten how much color winter could hold. The flowers would die in his soil, there is no place cold enough in the warren, but he can press them and paint them. Those are carefully stored in folded leaves. The herbs however could last. Mint, winter savory, spiderwort, wolfsbane and foxglove. Corkscrew hazel was twisting beauty that he hadn’t seen yet.  
Jack is watching from afar, but he can feel him twirling his staff in agitation, worrying his bottom lip.  
“It doesn’t seem like enough…”  
Comparing the piles, it would seem like a meager taking.  
“I’m only feeding one, Jack. You have a village in your corner. Honestly, I have half a mind to get you lot back and take a little more.”  
“No way, Easter ‘Roo.” Jack shook his head, heading in toward a fountain, declared with overflowing snowdrops. Apparently, Jack’s favorite. “Besides, not everything here eats like me and you. We can make this more than last. After all, winter is the season for savoring, right?”  
“Maybe some teas?” Anut chimed in, moving the last of Bunny’s baskets into a cart. “Cikuq’s last blend came out really well. Cranberry something…”  
“Cranberry apple. Great idea Anut, I’ll be back.”  
Jack pushed off, the hood flying back on Anut’s face. He sighed, giving up the fight and simply letting it stay down this time. No sense when Jack was going to come flying back. Bunny, as he insisted on being called, was watching as his sister checked on some of the more frost sensitive flower that they had traded, grabbing some extra leaves to make sure they arrived safely, despite the short distance.  
“He found us, you know.”  
Bunnymund glanced at him.  
“He found us, nearly a century and a half ago, though some of us can sense that we have been alive much longer than that. We weren't near as civilized then. Biting and fighting each other, frightening men and ourselves; no sense of home, no memories and certainly no discernible speech. But Jack came every year until we got used to him, and then he offered his own home, gave everything to let us grow a sense of self and culture. He didn’t give up.” He finally looked Bunny in the eye for the first time, red shining like blood. “We don’t remember who we were before Jack Frost, and quite frankly I don’t care. He has chosen us. We have chosen him.” He stepped forward, seeming taller than before. “We were beasts of fear and rage before. If needed, we have no fear of returning to those roots to protect the one that has given everything to us.”  
He’s not smiling. He’s baring his teeth. Bunny knows this face, he knows these creatures, he remembers these shining red eyes split-  
“Ok!” Jack whips back in, basket hanging off he’s crook like a hobo and he swings it forward. “There is peppermint, cranberry-apple, mistletoe, nettle, fennel and orange blossom, though I’m pretty sure that you might already make that one?”  
“Ta, mate.” Anut is gone, disappeared into thin air, but he doesn’t focus on that for now. The cart is loaded high, the other Qiqirn kept adding things to he’s small handfuls. Evidently, they see he’s sacrifice far greater than it actually is. To him at least.  
“Alright, I can’t make tunnels here, right?”  
“Nope, pocket dimension. I think I can create a portal to the Warren though, same way we came in.”  
The ice ferns part for them as they carry the baskets back, and he can’t help but see the way that Jack shakes a bit, like his nerves are firing off.  
“Alright?”  
“Yea, yea, the kids were just so happy. They had a lot of fun with you there and it’s just making me jittery. Not used to it yet.”  
Right. The bursts of joy will have him riding for days. He remembers the first few decades himself, getting used to the rise and fall of hope. The high after Easter still leaves him hopping for days after.  
“Well, how about we have a cuppa till your nerves are calmer, huh?”  
He knows how to make tea, been doing so for several centuries, but he allows Jack to explain the unique stewing points for each one, and it’s a nice change from his usual blends. He doesn't know what exactly Jack, or perhaps Cikuq, does that makes it so good, but the little blighter won’t give him the recipe.  
“Guess I’ll just have to trade you for it again. I have a couple of teas myself that you’d probably like in exchange. Really, the plum and wolfsbane are going to come in handy.”  
“Sure!” Jack chuckles, “Just keep your lemons and calendula handy and we’ll call it good!”  
Jack goes home, and Bunny makes a mental note to plant a few extra lemon trees closeby.  
\--  
Bunny hasn’t been down in several decades, though the magic kept it nearly spotless. After all, the few artifacts that he had managed to save or restore from the Golden Ages were priceless. He would possibly lose his mind if they ever got damaged.  
But he’s not here to reminisce about the Golden Age, is he? Deeper down in the ground, he feels among the walls, feeling the flower trying to push through and comfort him. He quietly tells them to go back. He won’t be down here long.  
At the end of the hall is an ordinary dark door and it shouldn't feel this ominous to open, but the room inside...The War. The Dark Ages of Pitch’s only reign and he’s defeat thereafter. He had been far more violent then, but Bunny, for the sake of history, had recorded it down.  
Pitch Black, at the height of his power, had created several creatures specifically of fear and terror in order to reinforce his reign on the world. Large and small, beautiful and ugly, but always terrible. Always with the intent to increase fear. When Pitch had been defeated, they had scattered. It was one of Bunny and North’s first bonding moments, hunting the fearlings down and putting them out of their misery.  
He held up the light to a section of wall carved out, the oil still filled and quickly igniting the entire room in a harsh glow. Blinking a bit, he finally found the portrait he had been looking for almost behind him.  
Long gangly furless wolves that had roamed in frozen forests and winter scapes, mouths stretched into Glasgow grins and four red gleaming eyes. They had been capable of standing on two legs, mimicking humans and terrorizing them when they finally ran into the woods. They were unique in that they waited for their victims to die of fright before feasting.  
Put some clothes on them, combine the two sets of eyes, there was a good chance. A very good chance. Yet, they didn’t remember. If they wanted to hurt children or return to Pitch, they’re had been ample of opportunities to do so. Jack had befriended them, somehow. But had he removed the darkness of the Nightmare King from when he had first crafted them?  
Bunny turned away from the tapestry, firmly ignoring the hair at the nape of his neck raising. He would need to keep an eye on them and make sure that there was no trace of Pitch left in them. For Jack’s sake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qiqirn: This creature comes from Inuit mythology as well as a large bald dog that scares people, but is known for being skittish and foolish. It's defining trait is the only tufts of hair being on it's feet, ears, mouth and tail. Obviously, for the sake of this story, I have taken several artisitic liberaties, but I stayed as close to the main source as possible wiht what I had.  
> In regards to the plants and flower in the garden, I did the best I could do with trying to find items that would survive such an environment, however if I have anything wrong, you are free to tell me. As somebody who can probably kill a cactus, I clearly have no garden of my own.


	4. The Sanctum: North

North wondered if Ombric had ever felt this old when he was training him. Looking over Jack’s work as they taught him more precise magic, certainly made him think to his own beginning years. The boy had understanding of the basics from learning on his own. years upon years of isolation had taught him how to listen to the way that magic moved and breathed, as opposed to commanding the force. There was a fear there, a dark festering thing, of becoming too powerful. North could understand, looking at other winter spirits like the Snow Queen and Boreas, didn’t exactly inspire confidence. But it was not in Jack’s nature to rule without mercy.  
He glanced up, the white haired boy scrunched onto a chair and going through the mythology texts for the next level of spells. A good basis of understanding magic’s origin, how it was shaped, was required before practicing it, especially at the rate that Jack continued to improve.  
“Hey, North? You sure that you this one is supposed to be in the pile? Looks kind of personal?”  
North rose from the desk, looking over Jack’s shoulder. A small news clipping of a man with a red uniform and tall furred hat was crouched on a blanket of ice, sabre’s stretched wide like wings in front of an approaching army.  
“General Winter.” He had nearly forgotten that was in there. “Before your time, was Winter spirit as well, mainly in Russia. We were good friends. Better drinking buddies! Have not seen in last century though...He made a brief reappearance during World War II, but I could not find him after.”  
Jack is looking at him in that odd way he sometimes does, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure of how much he is willing to actually give. The pen stills in his hand as he seems to make a decision.  
“General Winter passed when I was created. Who you saw, well, it would be easier to show you?”  
It seems it is his turn. The others talked about it briefly, especially Bunny who had called a meeting together to tell them of the Qiqirn. It seemed like Jack was keeping some powerful company in his corner. Jack went toward the boulder of ice that he keeps to carve from and it instantly refreezes at Jack’s touch.The pull is tangible as he waves the ferns in, and then pushes against them, unlocking a portal.  
Just like he’s snowglobes.  
North pushes through the ferns with him, feeling the scrape against his coat as he pulls it on. Jack had told him a bit of his home in the first free months, but not much. The spirit had a right to privacy after all.  
But to say that North was not excited would be an understatement.  
The snow crunches under his books as they step out from what looks like the gate to a garden, but it is the stairs leading down that intrigue him. An underground hexagon with walls as long as he’s arm and just as thick. There is an arch to mark the entrance, a wooden curve with a simple diamond pattern worn smooth at the top.  
“This is the Sanctum.” Jack whispers, touching the top of the arch before moving down the stairs. “It is where fallen winter spirits are revered and where we learn from their mistakes and victories.”  
It doesn’t take him but a moment to understand why. A few yards away, a solid ice statue stands, a dark figure with hair as wild and curled as a sheep’s, nearly completely shrouded in the heavy white cloak that wraps around the ice. The wings are half opened in half moon and the bowl beside her is filled with fresh winter berries.  
Cheimon. The first Avatar of Winter.  
The cloak is as good as the day it was crafted, a few feathers sewn into the lining that must be from Cheimon herself. At the base of her pedestal is a young winter spirit, a small thing with broad shoulders and nearly doubled over itself in a book. Jack smirks, seeing North’s wide eyes blink rapidly.  
Who knew you could still surprise the guardian of wonder?  
Jack pulls him forward, leading him past to the wall beside it. There are indents, candles and flint in case it gets too dark and more than a few are lit in their crude holes. Some even hold the beginnings of a carving or a selection of feathers and leaves for what he assumes are book marks.Jack knocks against the wall and faintly he can see the outline for a handhold before Jack yanks it open, rows upon rows of books safely kept hidden from the snow and frost. This seemed to be section that talked about Cheimon and other greek myths, a small section for Boreas.  
“North Wind doesn’t really like Boreas. He was a brute and named them the ‘devouring one’, so he doesn’t get a place of honor. But we learn to not be cruel because of him.”  
There are other books, clearly donated from goodwill judging from their condition, but intermixed are those that are undeniably handwritten. Personal tales written by nearly every single winter and autumn spirit that stayed here.  
“We don’t have a real organization system yet. Mostly Seg’s thing, but this is where we hold the library as well. Not near as impressive as yours, but none of us have been around as long as you old man.”  
“Hah! Not as old as you think.” He barks, and a few winter spirits startle, but they do not approach. He’s fingers itch to grab one of the handbound ones and sit down himself. Nothing is more precious than a new story, and Jack holds several.  
“C’mon, we came with purpose.”  
The chairs, now that he is looking at them, are different as well. Some are carefully hand carved, other donated to goodwill and patched with leftover fabric. Most of the spirits are far too deep into their reading to pay any attention to them though.  
General Winter’s statue towers over the both of them. He is as imposing as he was alive, pure white ice contrasting sharply with the red uniform still dressed on the form, just as cared for as when he wore it, the medals polished to a shine. He pulls open the shelf as Jack speaks, seeing several accounts of General Winter’s adventures, even some of General Hunger and General Mud. And even smaller section shows a few stories written about Jokul Frosti, a name that he isn’t sure is actually connected to Jack or not.  
“General Winter was the last Avatar of Winter,” Jack mutters, looking up at the statue. “Due to being an embodiment of winter myself, I can wear the items of previous winter holders and gain their abilities and skills, but there is a catch. My conscious and their conscious always get mixed. Last time I had to put on this uniform, I couldn’t remember who I was for weeks after.”  
For a split second it doesn't connect.  
“That was you? In World War II?”  
Jack turns away from him, tapping on the wall. It shimmers into existence, a small glass display case where the weapons are carefully stored. A twin pair of sabres crossed into an X, the shotgun unloaded, along with the pistol.  
“It was my body, at least. I can remember bits and pieces, but General Winter had a better idea of what to do, so it was mostly his conscious taking control.”  
Jack had been in war. They knew that Jack had witnessed war, it was unavoidable in North America, but being in a war was far different. It shouldn’t surprise him, not really, but he remembers the last time he saw General Winter. What he thought was General Winter, anyway. Both? He had been a man, just a head taller than him, the uniform seemingly more bloody red then than it was now. He’s medals, a collection of ice, bullets, and bones clicking together like a demented chime. He’s stark white hair had been cropped short, but he’s heard was thick and well kept. Eyes as sharp as the sabre’s at his side and, now that he was thinking about it, Jack’s unique shade of blue.  
His sled had fallen from the blizzard, the ropes snapped and nearly tossing him off. General Winter had found him, fixed the rope and told him to continue delivering the toys. Now that he knew that he was here, the Winter would not affect him, at least not here. North had asked why the winter was so intense now, but the general had only sighed, stretching his palm out, continuing as if he hadn’t heard his question. The children would been joy and wonder, if they were to survive the next battle.  
The winds parted for him, and the snow did not stop him from his deliveries, but after he left the country it had slammed back in full force. A mother of a blizzard struck down as soon as he left, men frozen in their posts, their cries unheard in the wind and their bodies not found until the storm had died down a few days later. It took well into Spring before the ice and frost finally melted, unyielding to even the spring spirits.  
It was the only time that Jack had ever put the uniform and no seasonal dared to give him any reason to get it back out after that display. Nobody has wished to suffer the wrath of General Winter again.  
North looked over at Jack as he stared solemnly at the case of weapons. Was Jack telling the truth, if he really didn’t remember? Or was it as ingrained in his mind as his own days in war?  
“Like I said, Seg keeps most of the records, but she got into exposed to a flame by accident a few weeks ago, she is waiting to reform again. Downside to existing as a being of pure ice and snow, right?”  
It’s a weak chuckle, and a poor move at trying to minimalize what must've been an extremely traumatizing experience. Aging transformations hurt, especially when you knew that you were forever destined to be a child.  
“Seg wouldn’t happen to be Snegurochka, would it?” North rumbled, books now forgotten.  
She had been a helper of his, during one of the first reincarnations of Christmas. She had been a child herself then, and had helped him keep track of the lists and take care of the horses. Last that they had spoken, she had been angry that he had deviated from his roots and gone with the western ideal. But he couldn’t change that the western idea was becoming the dominant form, everything he was was based on belief after all.  
And unfortunately, Santa Clause did not have a granddaughter.  
“I would like to talk to her, when she is ready.”  
“She would like to talk to you.” Jack sighed, rubbing his arm. “I think, after several centuries, she has had some time. You’ve had some time too, I think.”  
It’s quiet for only a moment before Jack bounds down, heading into the curve.  
“While we are here though, might as well show you Winter incarnate! The first of us all!”  
It was a poor conversation change, but North took it. That Snegurochka was still alive was enough to leave him reeling. He had lost that hope a long time ago, but perhaps, maybe, there was a chance afterall.  
Jack rushed ahead, hopping on the podium as North approached it. Clearly he’s favorite, a fearsome beast nearly twice as big as General Winter that he had never seen before. If North ever had, he probably would have killed it on sight. But Jack’s eyes held such affection, that he cannot help but think that, despite the fierceness in it’s face and the sharpness of its horns, there is a gentleness that he doesn’t have the privilege of seeing. It has the head of a wolf, the antlers of a elk, the torso of a polar bear and the hindlegs and tail of an arctic fox. The wings of a snowy owl are stretched wide in flight, claws extended as it rears back on it’s hind legs.  
Jack simply calls it the North Wind but there are more dozens of names wrapped around the podium, eventually trailing off due to having so many. North remembers vaguely the rush of freedoms that had erupted from the North Wind when Boreas had finally passed on. The man had used them so cruelly that it had been called the Devouring one for several decades. But looking closely, North sees several that Jack has carved in. Loyal darling and faithful bringer. They which give me freedom.  
“They aren’t technically gone or resting, but if North Wind ever wanted to, they could. That’s the important part. Or simply exist without having to push or pull anything around.”  
North smiles, agreeing. Knowing that there was a place prepared was just as good as resting in it, at times. He cannot help but glance back at General Winter’s statue though.  
Jack taps his staff into the ground, his face scrunched together before he takes a block of wood from one of the cubby holes, quickly carving a symbol in before chucking it as North, as if afraid that he is going to change his mind. It is a snowflake with four major layers before a near translucent center with a Jack’s initials.  
“You have an open invitation, when you want to come visit. I mean, if you want to come visit. I know that this place isn’t much compared to the North Pole-”  
North yanks him into a hug, waiting until the body relaxes in his grip.  
“It would be my honor.” He mutters. “To visit a world filled with so much wonder, created by one that is filled with so much joy and bravery.”  
He might have overdone it a bit. Jack won’t look at him, exactly, but he can feel the burst of wonder at Nicholas St. North coming to hang out with him. He is sure, if he were able to feel Hope the way that Bunny can, that it would be there too, but that is not his expertise.  
“While I got you in house though, I need to clarify a few details about Santa Claus. Think you can keep it true?”  
“What, I always tell truth!”  
“Really?” Jack pulls away, walking backwards. “Then why don’t any kids know about Santa having tattoos?”  
“Well…”  
\--  
Jack sighed after dropping North back off at the Pole. He would finish he’s lesson another day, but he couldn’t cope right now. He scrubbed he’s hands through his hair, finally lifting the spell the he had placed. That was close, far too close for comfort.  
He had rushed ahead and hidden it, but that didn't change the fact that he had stupidly given an open invitation! North was bound to find it, eventually.  
A solid ice statue stands, tall and nearly the same size as North himself. Ded Moroz. Morozko. Father Winter. Father Christmas. He looks stunning in his glory, a thick blue and white furred winter court undamaged throughout the ages resting across his shoulders. The staff of his power gleaming with the last remains of magic. It was the only place in the Sanctum with toys, the few handmade ones that Seg had kept, and a small folded baby blanket with ice patterns on the edge.  
North had decided that bringing wonder to children was more important than spreading winter. He had been a wonderful host, but Winter was possessive. It had to be first in the minds of it’s avatars, and it couldn’t stay after North had made his decision clear.  
But how could Jack explain that the workshop felt like home because it was North’s home? That he had been trying to break in because it was a part of his hopes and dreams from when North himself had been an avatar of Winter? Phil had understood, a bit. They made a game of it, the greatest trick in the North Pole. Jack, under no circumstances, no matter how hard he tried or tried to explain, was never allowed in the workshop. But Phil would leave the windows in the library unlocked, where he copied book after book for his spirits and continued to read and master he’s magic weaving. In exchange, he would sneak into the gift wrapping room where he gifted snowflakes to decorate the presents and bags.  
How could he explain why the reindeer never lowered their horns to him, or would let him ride on their backs if he dared? Why the horses never bucked him off, or how he know each and every inch of the blue sleigh that North hadn’t used in nearly a thousand years because he could remember crafting it?  
North would find it eventually. There would be questions and he honestly had no idea how the Christmas Spirit would react.  
But today, he was no other person than Jack Frost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Winter: Also known as General Frost or General Snow, refers to the winter climate of Russia as a major contributing factor to military failures of invasions of Russia. Much like Cheimon, there isn't much to go on in terms of mythology, however he was powerful figure in times of war, soldiers sometimes even swearing that they saw him in the sweeping snow.  
> Beira: The personification of winter and the mother of all the gods and goddesses in Scottish mythology, she is also associated with Celtic creation myths as well. She is a one-eyed giantess with dark blue skin, white hair and rust colored teeth and one of her main stories is the creation of the Loch Ness. Ben Nevis is her mountain throne and the longest night of the year marked the end of her reign as Queen of winter, at which she would visit the well of youth and, after drinking, grew younger day by day.  
> In this particular story, she is not actually gone, simply not powerful enough to remain awake. She awakens only on the longest night now, and she spends it with her daughter, Chione.  
> North Wind: This one is mostly artistic liberates in concern to appearance, however the Winds have almost always be controlled by somebody in mythology, as well as teh seasons. In concern to this story, the Avatar of Winter is the one that controls the North winds. It has had several horrible masters before hand,but Jack thus far as been the kindest yet. The boy holds a soft spot in it's heart.  
> Cheimon: A winged youth wrapped in a heavy cloaks and was often seen standing beside a tray of winter berries. Depending on the myth, the seasons or horas were sometimes the handmaidens of Hera, and sometimes not. In this one, she is the first recorded avatar of winter.  
> Morozko: aka Ded Moroz aka Father Winter aka Father Christmas, is a Slavic fictional character that brings presents to children and often delivers them in person on New Years Eve. He is unique in that accompanied by he's granddaughter, Snegurochka who is is helper as opposed to elves or the like. He eventually morphed into who we understand to be Santa Claus  
> Snegurochka: Also known as the Snow Maiden in Russian fairy tales, she is the granddaughter and helper of Ded Moroz. As a being of pure ice and snow, she cannot get near any sources of warmth, even concepts like love, but especially fire. She will vanish into a puff of frost should she accidentally get touched with it. She used distributes presents and fights the wicked witch, Baby Yaga, who Children are told wants to steal the gifts.


	5. Heart: All together now!

When Jack had first called their jobs little more than hard work and deadlines, it had been a sharp snap of reality. Hard Work and deadlines was an excellent way of showing just how far apart they had grown, allowing their holidays and duties to overtake their relationships. They had neglected each other and themselves. So trying to hold meetings at least once a month now was a small change in a major rift that had formed over the years.  
North sighed, snagging a goblet of eggnog before giving it back to the fretting elf. One of his more experimental toys, a robot that acted out the stories it narrated, had gone on a bit of a rampage when it came to testing on the pirate tales. The damage was extensive and right in the room where they were holding today's meeting. He huffed, running a hand through his beard. It was far too late to call it off, but it took away the planned carving project that they had set out.  
They arrived bit by bit, hearing the news as it spread.  
“-Sandy’s island would knock us out in minutes and neither me or Tooth have the tools needed to carve anything.”  
Jack sat back against a piece of rubble, looking over everything. It was important to hold these meetings. Jack knew if they allowed themselves to cancel, even once, then there was a bigger chance of it becoming a habit. It didn’t help that he had been excited about this one. Finally, something he was decent at! But it only left one option.  
“We could hold it at my place?”  
He nearly wasn’t heard but Sandy perked up. Are you sure?  
“In Sanctum? Bunny would not last long in snow, too tender footed.”  
“Tender-I’ll have you know- wait, what the hell is a sanctum?”  
Jack shakes his head, hopping off the rubble and closer to the group.  
“No, no, the center of it. My place. My actual place, I should say. It has plenty of seats and it’s warm enough inside not to freeze Bunny or Tooth, so…”  
He trailed off, but the others finally realized the implications.They had only seen what Jack had wanted them to see, just sections leading up to a core. Sandy clapped his hands and bowed, hands sweeping towards the wall. Lead the way, Jack! They would love to see!  
Jack froze a section of broken mirror and they all stepped through.  
Why they ended up in a shrub was a mystery, Tooth fluffing her feathers out to get rid of the feel of ferns. Bunny and North are frozen though, barely off the ground.  
The heart of Jack’s home is indescribable. Six large trees unlike anything Bunny has ever seen, stretching to the sky with branches of unseen white fauna on top. They are uniform, black as pitch at the roots and fading into an ombré of midnight blue to the blue highlights of snow to pure white, sharp hints of evergreens and mint interjecting here and there. He hops forward, feeling the trunk. Smooth as glass.  
The walls are nearly two and a half feet thick and held together by the trees like giant shifting mirrors, colors constantly shifting in them like shadows of the past. The archway is nearly big enough to allow an entire village and is decorated with pictures of holly berries and mint; sheep shifting from fluffy white clouds to storms, winter fae of all kinds and snowflakes dancing on invisible wind currents.  
“C’mon.” Jack leaps forward, tugging the white doors open. “It’s not that big of a deal.”  
Sandy severely disagrees, especially as they step in. The floor is carved into large ice ferns just as the garden paths had been, nearly going up the walls before fading into the ice walls. The first thing North notices is the fireplace. Carved into the hollow of one of the trees, it is enormous with a large black kettle underneath and rows upon rows of jars on top of it. Preserves, jellies, jams, teas, beeswax, small bits of sugar and flour, as well as several medicines. The stench of monkshood and spiderwort permeates the air, hanging to dry on the wall beside it. The shelves themselves are uneven in a few places and unpolished; The mark of an apprentice only just learning his craft. They smoothen as they get higher up though, even decorated a bit. Beds and chairs are close to it as well, hiding behind curtains of lace for some sort of privacy for those healing and resting.  
It’s the spinning wheel that grabs Sandy’s attention. Sheep's wool? It stands closer to the entrance, the basket of wool not treated yet and on the other side is another basket with fine gray shining strands. Tooth can see the hidden bath house of sorts and does not miss that, yet again, the water only reaches to about the knee. But it’s comfortable and open.  
Bunny tries to take in everything that he sees, but he is far too distracted by Jack’s hope. It’s faint, a fragile new thing. It is the first time they have all been here together. The heart of his home. There are no layers to hide in.  
“Crap, Mom would kill me. I’m being an awful host. Uh, winter spirits don’t tend to eat anything that you can’t just find and eat raw so we don’t really have bread and stuff on hand yet. But I have tea?”  
“Cranberry please.” Bunny chimes in. The process of making tea is familiar, routine. It might calm Jack’s nerves.  
“You know Easter Cottontail, you are going to pick my bushes dry at this rate. Besides, loose leaf isn’t near as good as the kind I gave you.”  
He hops on the crook of his staff anyway, grabbing the jar and falling gracefully down. The tea kettle isn’t anything special, but tea cups are exquisite, and clearly not of Jack’s hand. The designs are based on days long past, events that haven't happened in nearly six hundred years. Sandy blinks, picking one up carefully, but he knows the make. Are they here? Jack actually earned their respect, enough for them give him cups. He turns towards Bunny, making a gesture. The boy has influence that he doesn’t know. Doesn’t realize the power he wields.  
North spots it, hidden away behind one of the jars before Jack can help it.  
“Jack!” He booms, picking up the wooden horse. It is not a toy by any means, but the wind curling around it’s hooves is delicately made and exquisite. “You said you had no experience!”  
“No, I said I had a little experience.” Jack stumbles, taking it from his hand. “Besides, it rough really, a work in progress.”  
“No, no,” North argued, pointing at the ice ferns gracing the hide. “Look at detail work. Is superb!”  
“You should see the reindeer upstairs.” Jack mutters, placing the jar back.  
“Upstairs?”  
With what stairs? There was only this floor, as far as tehy could see.  
“Yea, the um, well I guess it’s a crafts room, for lack of a better term. It’s where I thought we could have the meeting? It’s through the hole, in the chandelier.”  
They glanced up. The chandelier in the middle that they had assumed was simply hanging down was really just a hanging curtain of icicles for the hole to the second floor.  
Sandy expanded his cloud for North to sit on, Bunny simply hopping the distance, nearly slipping in panic.  
“The windows will hold your weight.” Jack assured them both. “They may have been borrowed from goodwill and stuff but they are reinforced with winter magic. Strong as ice.”  
The floor was a patchwork of windows, the frames creating uneven boxes and shapes across the space with varying shades of light and dark brown. There are maps tacked into the wall, charted courses of winter along with the movements of the others seasons in different colors to ensure that nobody ran into each other. Drawers where games, stories, dances and tapestries that Jack was able to save over the decades, waiting for the right time to introduce them again. The right half of the room held thousands of snowflakes quivering in the air, suspended by nothing. A basket of gray wool as dark as storm clouds and twice as soft is waiting, right beside a basket of snow. A half finished blanket is waiting beside the rocking chair. Sandy taps Jack’s shoulder, pointing to the snowflakes above them.  
“This is where I make the snowflakes. Every snowflake is a story, right? When they melt into the earth, it’s like telling the Earth a bedtime story. It’s a lot easier to convince it to sleep that way than just making it cold.”  
The left side is a large table, small wood carving tools still on the table from the last use, though there were bigger ones in the drawer. Wooden shavings are tossed half hazardously on the floor, a few toys and carvings waiting in the same caved walls to be finished. North quickly finds the reindeer Jack referred to.  
“Jack!” He yanks the boy away from Sandy and Bunny, nearly bouncing in his joy. He is going back to naught list for lying. Jack has talent! Skill! How much to get him to work in workshop?  
Bunny chuckles, moving closer to Sandy as Tooth zips around and opens drawers that stretch all across the walls. More and more games and dances from three hundred years past are revealed, little memories popping up in her head. She wonders if Jack would object to her putting in a few more, from before his time. Before this world maybe. To see a child playing those again…  
“Storm clouds, right?”  
Sandy nods at Bunny’s question. Jack has the respect of the Storms, the North Wind, and now, with the confirmation of the cups, the Vodyanoy. They were lucky that Pitch didn’t realize what a power source Jack was at the time. They were extremely lucky that Jack hadn’t teamed up with him. Bunny’s ears go back a bit at the memory, rubbing the edge of the blanket between his paws. He hadn't meant-he had just been so angry. It had been centuries since a child had walked through him that when it had happened it had felt like having the light stripped from his soul.  
Sandy nodded. He understood all too well that rage could engulf.  
“Where is globe?” Tooth chirped. “The one we helped you make? You said you were going to make alterations to it, so I was a bit curious.”  
Bunny let go of the soft gray wool as Jack glanced up from underneath North’s arm. There was that hope again, a little bigger, a little brighter. They could vaguely see another place through the branches of the ceiling, but that was- but they had liked everything else hadn't they?  
Bunny fought the instinct to just tell him that he didn’t have to if he wasn’t ready. The instinct to just hug the boy close and foster that hope a little more was harder to resist. Didn’t he know that they could trust them?  
Then again, when was the last time he had trusted anyone else with his own personal nest?  
Jack nodded, hooking one of the branches and pulling it down, a hole slowly opening up until it could fit them all.  
Definitely Jack’s personal room. The branches stretched into the canopy where the glittering underside of Jack’s pond could be seen, the shadows of designs shifting restlessly like clouds on the bottom. No wonder the damn pond never melted. It wasn’t capable anymore. A cave of sorts had been constructed in a corner, the branches stretching into a circular shape and narrowing at the end. A few gray, black and white blankets are finished in here, delicate blue border on some of them and pillows piled high inside. Small glowing mushrooms pushed through the branches to create a rough starry night underground. The globe itself is the center of the room, held up by a wooden podium, the lights slowly growing as Jack’s story continues to circulate thanks to the Burgess believers. The weather patterns and wind movements must be the alterations Tooth was talking about, the soft trail of them drifting as they do outside. A quick glance could tell Jack everything he needed to know.  
Tooth spots them first, almost immediately, the items saturated in memories behind their glass casings. A brown buckskin cloak on its last thread, carefully cared for and preserved, far happier than it’s neighbor; a long dark blue jacket with a thick hood. It reeks of pain and desperation. There are detailed snowflakes beside each, Jack’s personal memories of that time, mostly major events that he did while wearing them to keep track of the centuries. Bunny remembers the dark blue jacket. It was the one that Jack wore during ‘68, the large tear at the bottom from his own claws. But none of them have ever seen the last one.  
It is a ceremonial outfit, a dark blue trailing cloak with thick white fur sewn in the lining of it and detailed with snowflakes on the hem. A crown of holly berries rests on a shelf, the proud horns of an elk sharpened to a point. The clasp is unlike anything Sandy has ever seen put together. Blessed by each of the spirits in his care, the cord is crafted from a strand of fire from each of the Qiqirn, a single wooden oval carefully carved by the Vodyanoy themselves in the center. Beside it, an owl's’ feather, a wolf's claw, a graded strand from a horse’s mane, a bear’s fang and the whisker of a fox.  
A smaller library is tucked away here as well, mostly magic books, fairy tales and mythology over winters spirits. The slight sound of humming magic is sharp, and North can spy a book of Jack’s own handwriting where he has been working on his own variations of common winter spells to make them less dangerous.  
Jack is as stiff as ice, silent, and the hope is gone in their silence.  
Being here is too much. They’ve pushed Jack’s limit.  
“Alright Frostbite,” Bunny walks closer, placing a paw on his shoulder. “Let’s go back down, huh? Teas probably done by now.” Jack leaps down faster than a rabbit, landing on the second floor and breathing easier. He wasn’t quite as ready as he thought. That’s fine. There is always next time. They can build up to that level, just as Jack has built every every level here.  
The tray is already set up on the table, the wooden cups steaming and faintly red. Jack chuckles, setting the staff in the corner and pulling a few tools out.  
“Thank you, faithful beloved.” He whispers, and although they can’t see them, they can feel them rush by and toss Jack’s hair before leaving again. A few more spare chucks of wood and Jack folds himself criss cross at a stool.  
“Ok, let’s get started!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vodyanoy: Mainly from Slavic mythology, they can be found in several other myths as well, with typical variations. Male winter spirits in general, they are extremely diverse, their skin and scales ranging from green, blue and black scales with gills and webbed membrane between thier fingers. They are shapeshifters of sorts, able to be young or old with human or more amphibian bodies or frog like faces but nearly always have long hair or beards. They ride along rivers on half sunk logs and when angered, break dams, wash down water mills and drown others. Their pride and joy are their hair and the cups that they craft, which are indicators of their status and wealth. Most of the time, they play cards, smoke pipes or sit at the water's surface, occasionally helping fishermen.  
> A few of them stay with Jack, mainly the younger ones and have each given them a cup as a sign of their loyalty and admiration. They keep watch of the rivers above and help the fishermen and bee keepers on the edge, but must return when summer hits due to the summer spirits insisting not taking the jobs themselves. They are the only ones that rest in the row boats in the trees or in the garden closer to the water. They are not able to speak above water and Jack is unwilling to enter below water due to drowning himself, but they still have a good relationship with him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you start imagining a fun little world for Jack to live in and then do far too much research for it. Far more coming up in the near future, and thanks for reading!


End file.
